The Adventure of the Empty House
by study-in-green
Summary: based on the story by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle; dedicated to the amazing nyxviola.tumblr
1. Chapter 1: London Rain

The Adventure of the Empty House

Chapter I – London Rain

Rain was drenching his hair, his jacket. Hypothermia was already taking over his senses, despite his fast walking pace.  
It was late evening, with London drowning in fog, in moistness, in an unhealthy shade, creating an atmosphere that made respectable people flee to their warm flats and dubious creatures coming out of their holes, lusting for mystery and mischief.  
_How very Victorian_, he thought. _There were times when you were a rational man of science, remember?_

But then there was no reason why he should still believe in rationality. There was no rational way to explain what had happened. Not that his most desperate plea had been heard. Not that his best friend had returned from the dead. And most certainly not that he couldn't forgive him for that.  
Twenty months have passed since Sherlock Holmes jumped from the roof of St. Bart's. Twenty months in the shadows. Nightmares, useless discussions with his therapist, Mycroft, Lestrade. Twenty months of trying to restore his friend's reputation, only supported by the Irregulars. Twenty months of searching for clues that could lead to Moriarty, the real Moriarty, not the phantom he had created. But the criminal mastermind and his mighty organisation seemed to have vanished and not even Mycroft had the power to bring them back. He couldn't accept it but in the end he knew it was his duty to go on. To live. For Sherlock's sake. And for his own. He managed to open his own surgery and he fell in love with a woman he didn't need to impress constantly. Although this fact pained him, he started to come to terms with his loss.

He had experienced this before. Nothing ever happened to him and then, in only a few seconds, everything changed once more.


	2. Chapter 2: The Return of Sherlock Holmes

Chapter II – The Return of Sherlock Holmes

Yesterday, Mycroft came to visit him in his surgery. Not that he needed his medical advice, of course not. Before he started to explain, he apologised. For lying. For trying to protect him. He didn't give him the time to ask questions, he just wanted him to sit down behind his desk.  
'It's time to leave the stage for me now', he closed his unintelligible explanations, false humour in his shaking voice. 'And for the main character to appear.'  
Shortly after he had left the room, a tall figure, covered in an old shabby coat, stepped into the doorframe. His face was covered by a dark beard, he blinked in an insecure way behind his big glasses, pressing the pile of old books he was carrying against his chest. The sight of this ridiculous fellow startled the doctor even more than Mycroft's cryptical allusions. He rose from his chair, not sure how to react to this unexpected visit.  
'I'm sorry, can I help you?, he finally asked, forcing himself to stay polite. 'Did Mr. Holmes send you or…'  
'Indeed.' The high-pitched voice didn't fit the tall figure. 'Dr. Watson, I presume?' He giggled nervously. 'A fine surgery you have build yourself, yes. But Mr. Mycroft and I share the opinion that your book shelves should get more attention.'

'My…book shelves?' The doctor looked at this shelves behind him in surprise. They almost couldn't carry the large amount of medical literature. 'I don't understand what you…'  
He turned around at his guest. The ridiculous bookworm was gone. Two eyes, a strange mixture of blue and green, looked at him in pain. No beard, but a face as pale as death himself.  
'John…' The voice, deep, dark and comfortable, faded, an echo from the hereafter.  
'Sher…' John ventured a small step towards his friend, then his strength left him and he fainted.


	3. Chapter 3: Irregularities

Chapter III – Irregularities

_Now it's raining more than ever, you can stand under my umbrella…_

The shop was already closed, the employees were clearing up, the tune of their radio echoing in the street.  
'This is what my brother would most certainly call the perfect love song.' He had completely forgotten this little inside joke between him and his best friend, but now, he could not even smile. Every thought about Sherlock awoke a bitter anger inside him that was threatening to tear him apart.  
'I'm so, so sorry.' He remembered the look in his widened eyes when he came to his senses again on the floor of his surgery, a strange mixture of panic and regret. Mycroft was standing behind him, all arrogance gone from his grey face.  
'I told you you could not do it that way', he muttered, then kneeled beside his brother. 'He's not a ghost, John. I must apologise, but my dear brother would not listen to me.'  
'Could you just leave us alone, Mycroft?' The suppressed anger in Sherlock's voice sounded strangely inappropriate. 'This is not the time to…'  
'It can't be!' The Holmes brothers were both clearly surprised by the speed with which John came at his feet and rescued himself behind his desk. 'It can't be! I'm getting mad, it can't be!'  
Mycroft forced him in his chair and then he started to explain, while his brother just leaned against the wall, staring at him with strained fear in his eyes.

_He couldn't tell you the truth, John…Yes, I organised everything…Yes, Miss Hooper helped me…Yes, the Irregulars were working for us…Yes, we lied to you the entire time…In fact, everybody lied to you…_

'I thought I knew you better than everyone else.' John didn't realise he was muttering to himself while walking through the rain. 'I thought you trusted me more than you trusted anyone. But in the end, you didn't care about me. One glimpse of hope, Sherlock. A rumour. A whisper. And I wouldn't have felt so desperate. But you just wanted me to function. To not reveal anything. I can't forgive you. I will never forgive you.'  
'But nonetheless, you are here.' John turned around. A neglected looking young man stood behind him in the rain, a slightly amused expression in his eyes. 'Good evening, Dr. Watson.'  
'Higgins.' John took a deep breath. 'So he sent you? The leader of the Irregulars, his trusted and most noble Homeless Network?  
'There's no need to be sarcastic. Let me just tell you I'm glad you're here. He wasn't sure you'd come. Told me you threw him out of your surgery yesterday.'  
' I just want to tell him that my attitude hasn't changed', John replied with dignity. 'He did not trust me and that's why I can't trust him anymore. It's over.'

A wide grin appeared on Higgins' face. 'It bet it is since you plan to get married.'  
But before John could tell him to shut up, he seized him by his arm and dragged him with him until he pushed him through the rear entrance of a grey, plain house. John found himself in a dark corner, at the bottom of an old staircase. It was cold, dust dancing in the dim light of a lonely candle.

'Where are we?'

'Well, that's obvious, isn't it?' Sherlock Holmes replied. 'We're in the flat opposite 221B.'


	4. Chapter 4: The Empty House

Chapter IV – The Empty House

He was standing at the top of the staircase, a candle in his hand, still so in love with the mysterious.  
'Your brother told me you weren't a ghost, remember?' John folded his arms in front of his chest. 'I just came to tell you that I made my decision. I'm glad you're not dead and I hope you'll be able to clear your reputation. But whatever you plan for your future, I won't be at your side. Not anymore. Twenty months ago, Moriarty did everything to destroy my morals but I resisted him. You were by far more successful.'  
The silence between them seemed to last for ages. He was just standing there, the candle in his hands, his face hidden in twilight.  
'It's time to go now, Higgins', he finally whispered and the cheeky leader of the Irregulars vanished without protest.  
'Please come up here, John. I have to show you something.'  
'I don't follow your orders anymore.'  
'You have never followed my orders. I just want you to understand something. Please.'

John almost cursed himself when he finally ascended the staircase to follow him in the room above. The flat was deserted. No furniture, no curtains in front of the small window. John looked outside curiously. Baker Street was covered in twilight slowly turning into darkness, but the windows of 221B, their old flat, their _home_, were illuminated.  
'Right, what's going on? There are no new tenants and I doubt Mrs. Hudson is throwing a house party. She was just as upset as I when she found out you're alive.'  
'Although she decided to hug me, not to curse me. In fact, she _is_ throwing a party, but there's only one guest invited.'

The curtains of 221B were cast aside and John almost couldn't believe what he saw. Sherlock Holmes was sitting in his chair by the window, the lights of his TV flickering.

'Either this is a long lost twin brother or…'  
'A wax figure, designed by an old friend of mine in France. Brilliant, isn't it?'  
'As soon as Scotland Yard sees this, they will make a run on the house to arrest your doppelganger.'  
'Not if they think one of their best Detective Inspectors has everything under control.' The door to the next room opened and Lestrade grinned at them widely.  
'Greg!'  
'Evening, John. Before you start shouting at me, I didn't know he was alive. Thought I was overworked when he came to me. But now it's just like old times, eh?'  
'The Detective Inspector was kind enough not to tell his colleagues about our meeting. In fact, he wants to prove them wrong about me being a fraud.'  
Lestrade cleared his throat. 'Wanted to repay my guilt. Twenty months ago, everything happened so quickly. I should have trusted Sherlock. I thought it was at least partly my fault that he was dead.'  
'If you had refused Anderson and Donovan, you would most likely not be an DI anymore. But we need you tonight, Lestrade.'  
John was getting unpatient. 'Would anyone bother to tell me what's going on or…'  
'I told you Moriarty was dead. He killed himself to ensure I would die myself. I also told you that I vanished to stay away from the revenge of his associates. In the meantime, Mycroft and I were not idle. We needed time to learn more about Moriarty's network and now the time to strike has finally come. There were quite a few conflicts among his men but finally, it was his former second in command who took over the empire. The Conduit Street Comanche is back in London, united again in the name of Sebastian Moran, a war veteran and the best heavy hot shot the Commonwealth has ever produced. A few mysterious murders with his handwriting all over them have brought me upon his trail. He's not half as cunning as Moriarty and despite the fact that his death has made him commander in chief, he seems to…well…' He looked at John more than just meaningful. 'My sources told me he was desperate after his master's death. Jim…I mean…_Moriarty_ might not have cared for any of them, but nonetheless, Moran and the Comanche are still surprisingly loyal towards him.'

John started to understand. 'You think he wants to kill you as soon as he finds out you're still alive.'  
'Why would he do that, Sherlock?' Lestrade protested. 'Moriarty did everything to make the world believe he was a lie, that he was in fact an actor. We were not aware of the fact that his criminal empire even existed, so why would this Moran fellow risk to be caught?'

'I told you I have my sources. They let Moran know about the encounter between us, Inspector. He thinks that Mycroft's influence made the police forget the resentments against me. The Prime Minister himself owes my brother a thousand favours and Kitty Reilly is now a correspondent in Asia, tracking down stories far more interesting for a newspaper with a far better reputation. Moran thinks I wouldn't know his empire is strong again in London, he thinks he's as clever as his master.' Sherlock blew out the candle in his hand. 'He thinks he would get away with yet another murder. He doesn't know we're waiting for him.'


	5. Chapter 5: The Tiger and the Magpie

Chapter V – The tiger and the magpie

Their silent vigil seemed to last for hours. It was not until the middle of the night that they could recognise suspicious shadows in the street light.  
'The Conduit Street Comanche.' Although he almost couldn't see his face, John knew that Sherlock showed his dangerous smile. 'The poor fools have no idea that this will be their last day of work. Higgins had to promise me not to cut open their throats with his teeth. We've had enough scandals in the past.'  
'Seems as if you've fallen asleep in front of the telly.'

Mrs. Hudson had moved the statue a few times but now the wax detective sat still.  
'It's too dangerous for her in there now.'

As if a higher power had heard his words, the door in the basement burst open. John, Sherlock and Lestrade hid in the adjoining room. The two investigators kept their guns at hand. The staircase creaked. Someone stepped into the old living room of the deserted flat.  
'Finally.' The intruder took a deep breath as he walked towards the window. 'Finally, Mr. Holmes.'  
They could see him through the small gap between door and frame. Sebastian Moran was a tall, well-built man with blond hair and just like John still a soldier in every move he made. The calmness with which he opened the window and unpacked his air gun was frightening. His hands were absolutely steady, his eyes glittering in the twilight.

'I doubt you can hear me now, you bastard', the ex-soldier declared as he pointed his gun at the wax figure. 'But let me tell you that this is the last thing I'll ever do for you. As soon as this is over, you will be officially dead. Go to hell, Jim.'  
He pulled the trigger, sound of cracking glass in the night and Sherlock Holmes was dead, shot in his sleep. The game had finally come to its end.

Moran showed not a single sign of emotion as he secured the air gun. But as he wanted to rise to his feet, he suddenly felt the oh so familiar feeling of cold metal in his neck and a voice of a ghost whispered: 'Ah, Colonel. Journeys end in lovers' meetings.'


	6. Chapter 6: Parallel Lines

Chapter VI – Parallel lines

At first, nothing happened. Moran sat still, clearly overwhelmed by severe shock, not daring to blink, not daring to breathe, a tiger in a tight corner. Lestrade stepped forward, his gun aimed at the trapped sniper.  
'I'd say well done, Sherlock, but then you always…'  
A quick movement, too quick for human eyes to behold, and Moran was back at his feet, the gun in his hand, with Sherlock lying flat upon his face, unconscious after a strike at his head with his own weapon. Before Lestrade could aim at him once more, Moran had shot him in his leg, the Detective Inspector falling to the ground with a suppressed cry of pain. But the criminal wasn't quick enough to seize the wounded man's gun. Instead, he was facing John Watson, aiming Lestrade's weapon at his heart.

'The parallel is exact.' The colonel showed a dangerous animal-like grin, as he himself aimed his gun not at John, but at Sherlock. 'We did this before, remember? Me aiming a gun at your friend when you tried to cross the plans of James Moriarty and Sebastian Moran. And it didn't work, Johnny. I'm sorry.'

'If you try to harm him or Lestrade, I'll shoot you', the doctor explained calmly.

'You have already witnessed my remarkable capacity of reaction and I assure you that I don't care if I live. I just want your friend dead. Oh, and…not sure, if you've understood this, but I'm the most important witness to prove his innocence. Arresting the leaders of the Conduit Street Comanche won't help you, they almost had no contact with Jim. I'm the one you need, the one whose knowledge, whose life story, can bring the true identity of Richard Brook back. It's your choice. A choice between life and death. You're both a soldier and a doctor, you're used to such things.'

John knew he was more than just right, for he did not start to panic. _Think_, Sherlock's voice whispered in his head. _You have to think! _He did not dare to make the tiniest movement, he knew that the detective would be dead in an instant.

'A choice? Which opportunities do I get then?'

'You may either kill me or arrest me. I won't fight you, I know that I won't be quick enough anyways. In fact, I'd like to restore our reputation – that of Jim and me – in the eyes of the public. I've witnessed glorious days, Dr. Watson, powerful days. I've been a war veteran, fighting for a country that did not welcome me. Jim gave me every opportunity to be who I really am. But now it is as if we have never even existed, just because he wanted to win this childish game. It's my turn now and I want us to be remembered. You can only win if you let me tell my story. You wouldn't count as a naive fool anymore.'

'But you will kill Sherlock. That's not negotiable.'

'Of course not.'

'But please tell me this one thing before you…'

A gun fired, Moran fell to the ground, screaming and holding his wrist, blood pouring down his arm.

'I wondered how long it would take!' Lestrade yelled. 'Sherlock could have been dead by now.'

'Not that I would have regretted his loss.' Sally Donovan showed her sweetest smile as she handcuffed Moran's unharmed wrist, while she kept hold of the other end of the manacles. 'But then I couldn't disappoint you, Detective Inspector.'


	7. Chapter 7: 221B Baker Street

Chapter VII – 221B Baker Street

'Saved by Donovan?' Sherlock stared at him with unspeakable terror in his eyes. 'I beat James Moriarty only to be saved by the woman who did everything to destroy my reputation with such enthusiasm that one could think she was one of Moriarty's loyal Conduit Street Comanche?'

'Scotland Yard didn't allow Lestrade to work on this delicate mission completely alone. After all, they would face a high ranking criminal – either you or a mysterious sniper trying to kill you. I thought that was rather…well, _obvious_.'

'Of course it was obvious.' Sherlock confirmed with dignity. 'Lestrade didn't want to make us feel uncomfortable since we both mistrusted his colleagues.'

'Nonetheless, we were lucky.' John leaned against the cupboard in their old living room. Sherlock was back at 221B, as if nothing had happened. Within two days, he had already managed to turn Mrs. Hudson's tidiness into utter chaos. 'I couldn't do anything to save you. The only possibility I had was to talk. To lengthen time. And to hope that something would happen. When the window at 221B cracked and Lestrade did not give a sign that everything went according to plan, Donovan decided to go upstairs as soundless as she could. Moran watched my every movement, he completely concentrated on me, but he didn't recognise her.'

'I hope you don't expect me to thank her.'

'Not really, no.'

'Good. Well…I guess I have to thank _you_. You are hopefully aware of the fact that you saved my life once more.'

They stared at each other for a moment that was longer than they would ever have admitted, then John cleared his throat. 'I couldn't watch you die another time, you know?'

'John…'  
'No. You've been in the hospital for two days. We will talk, Sherlock. But now is not the time. Now we should just be a little grateful.'

'Grateful?'

'Not sure if you know that word, but…'

Sherlock showed a smile one could almost describe as shy. 'Of course I know it. It has nothing to do with the solar system, you see?'

They laughed, not as wholeheartedly as in their former days, but it felt good. Then someone knocked at the door and as John opened it, Mrs. Hudson stood in front of them, carrying a tray with three wine glasses.

'I thought I should prepare a little surprise for you since we're all back home again.'

'Not really all of us, Mrs. Hudson', John reminded her. 'I will soon marry and…'

'Oh yes, it will be a lovely feast. Have you already met Mary, Sherlock? Such a nice woman. I'm already looking forward to Christmas. Of course all of you are invited to celebrate here at Baker Street. Mr. and Mrs. Watson, Molly, the Detective Inspector – I hope his leg will be better soon – and if you want, Sherlock, also this young Higgins fellow. Although his appearance is quite…well…he seems to be a loyal and honest boy.'

'Incredibly loyal. He almost beat the leaders of the Comanche to death', Sherlock whispered.

'And if he wants to come, your brother Mycroft is of course always welcome. He has every reason to celebrate since your reputation is restored now.'

'While James Moriarty is once more remembered as the greatest criminal mind London has ever seen. I hope his sniper is happy about it. After all, he went to prison for his revenge.'

John shrugged. 'I don't really think we will miss the two of them.'

'Well then.' Mrs. Hudson raised her glass. 'Everything turned out well. I have my boys back and the world's only Consulting Detective is once again free to devote his life to examining those interesting little problems which the complex life of London so plentifully presents.'


End file.
